Three
The Fears Came First
It seemed easy, but what came first were the fears. In full force, they took up the invitation to speak to me and had lots to say. Night sweats would wake me up at 3 a.m., unusual for me. Not much wakes me up, but, like Ebenezer Scrooge, I had three rounds of middle-of-the-night visitors, each with a specific concern and each lasting for two to three weeks.
Fear of Incompetence
The first round had me worrying about leading in a field where I have not only minimal knowledge but the least knowledge among all my colleagues. I dreamt about showing up at meetings having prepared the wrong material, running out of time to read everything, or trying to speak but no words would come. I woke up to a sense of panic and embarrassment. Following Fr. Ken’s instructions, I would write down these fears on the pad I kept on the night table next to my bed, acknowledge my fear, give this to God, and fall back to sleep.
Depth of knowledge is the calling card for academics and the basis of legitimacy for our credibility. Academics draw very tight perimeters within which they will plumb deep. One has to be clear on which microslice of what topic one is proffering unassailable knowledge and opinion. Because they often interact with others who have equivalent depth but on different topics, academics are very careful not to wander into areas (even highly related contiguous topics) that are not their specializations. There is no word more damning to an academic than “shallow.” Thus the idea of leading an organization when I possessed little knowledge horrified me.
During the day, I actually did not think about it. Fr. Ken’s instruction freed me from having to resolve the problem: I was merely to listen, to note, to name my fear. There was no analytic with which to approach this, I would just offer it to God. Somehow, in random moments, insights would come, and they would help me move past a hurdle.
I cannot tell you when these insights arrived or where they came from — it was almost like a doorbell rang and a message was delivered. Out of the blue, it dawned on me that I had never presented myself as an international development specialist; nothing on my résumé would indicate that. I had not misled anyone. Given that the search committee could not have seen international development on my résumé, they must be looking for something else.
At that point, I recalled the words of a beloved mentor who had since passed away. Dr. Robert Ringel, Executive Vice President of Academic Affairs (EVPAA) — essentially the provost — of Purdue University, had offered me the position of Associate EVPAA. At that time, I had had only one semester as a full professor and felt completely unqualified and unprepared for the position. I had no exposure to university governance and budgets, nor had I been engaged in the deliberation of decisions for which the Office of the EVPAA would develop policy guidance.
Even though the post of Associate EVPAA would be several steps up the hierarchy, I did not think it was time for me to move on to a new assignment. I turned down Dr. Ringel and the assignment. To show proper respect in the Chinese way, my letter presented a litany of the many things I had not handled and areas for which I had no expertise. I highlighted my deficiencies and concluded that he deserved someone better and more knowledgeable than me.
That evening I ran into Dr. Ringel at the intermission of a concert. He was disappointed and somber. He told me that he was not capable of small talk because he just lost a friend to suicide, so he would speak directly, perhaps undiplomatically. He then said three things to me.
First, I should not put myself down and focus on things I had not done. What we do not know in the universe is unbounded. Humility does not require us to deny or diminish what we have done, what we have invested to learn, and the contributions we stand to make.
Second, he noted that I should trust him: he knew what I had and had not done; he could decipher my strengths, gaps, and experiences.
Third, and most important, he knew what he needed. He felt that I had not given any weight to his judgment in reaching out to me. He was right. He told me to call him when I felt ready to move on, that he would have a place for me on his team.
In the winter of 2011, when I was overwhelmed by what I did not know about international development, Dr. Ringel’s words from 1993 came flooding into my memory. Were he alive, he would be one of the first persons I would call. Though he was gone, he still spoke to me. When I did join the Purdue EVPAA Office two years after our talk, I did not end up crafting administrative policies, but assumed the responsibility for designing and coordinating the university-wide strategic planning, change management, and continuous improvement processes. My role was unique to the university, was complementary to others’ efforts, and drew on expertise I had developed over decades.
Such insights settled my nerves and helped me turn my focus to what I could do rather than what I could not do. Just as important was the acknowledgment that CRS, with five thousand employees, easily enjoys more than fifty thousand people-years of knowledge about international development. If I were to become CRS’s CEO, I would need to respect what I did not know and turn to and access the deep expertise of colleagues. I found the opportunity for others to help me lead energizing. I have taught executive leadership for a long time, and one of the myths and blind spots is that the leader should know everything and make every decision. This is unhealthy for the leader and grossly underutilizes the talents within the organization. In some ways, having decades of experience may get in the way of cultivating others’ perspectives and developing their leadership potential.
My fear about incompetence lost its grip on me.
Fear of Danger
My second round of night sweats brought into consciousness the danger of being in highly insecure countries and also the fear that something might happen to David while I am gone on one of my many trips. Among the countries in which CRS serves, many face a high degree of violence or are exposed to health and physical hazards. Threats to personnel in the development sector have been rising steadily over the years.
I was in Ethiopia as a CRS board member in 2008. We arrived at our hotel one hour after a bomb exploded in a minibus across the street. We were fortunate in that our arrival was held up because of a delay in baggage handling. In 2010, I spent five days in Afghanistan when three security threats took place: the first targeted the staff of another humanitarian organization; the second was an explosion that sprayed shrapnel and injured the wife of a CRS staff member; and the third incident involved a round of attacks near the airport from which I would be leaving later that afternoon. My middle-of-the-night thoughts drifted to Fr. Larry Jenco, who was kidnapped in Lebanon in 1985 by members of the radical group Islamic Holy War and released after 564 days in captivity. At that time, he was serving as CRS Lebanon country manager.
It should be noted that CRS has very strict security protocols that include comprehensive training, restrictions in movements, readiness preparation, ratings of countries for the assignment of personnel, as well as participation in various networks for security updates and evacuations. Safety is the number-one concern, and all decisions pivot around this. Yet unpredictable violence is always a part of some of our operating environments.
And the risks are not confined to man-made violence. When I went to Indonesia in 2005 to survey the tsunami relief, an aftershock brought on an earthquake of 8.7 on the Richter scale while I was on the top — eighth — floor of a hotel. All these were on my mind as I sat up in bed in the middle of the night. I felt strongly that as CEO one should be ready to go wherever the staff are; otherwise we have no business putting people there. Did I have the courage? Could I embrace this aspect of the position?
A bigger worry was about my husband. Dave is relatively healthy but has had blackouts due to atrial fibrillation, which causes an irregular heartbeat. What would happen if
